's neck, and
I felt that the old matchmaker would soon be in possession of the facts.
A hilarious guffaw that reached me as I was picketing my horse announced
that the story was out, and as the two returned to the fire Uncle Lance
was slapping Enrique on the back at every step and calling him a lucky
dog. The news spread through the camp like wild-fire, even to the
vaqueros on night herd, who instantly began chanting an old love song.
While Enrique and I were eating our supper, our employer paced backward
and forward in meditation like a sentinel on picket, and when we had
finished our meal, he joined us around the fire, inquiring of Enrique
how soon the demand should be made for the corporal's daughter, and was
assured that it could not be done too soon. "The padre only came once a
year," he concluded, "and they must be ready."

"Well, now, this is a pretty pickle," said the old matchmaker, as he
pulled his gray mustaches; "there isn't pen or paper in the outfit. And
then we'll be busy branding on the home range for a month, and I can't
spare a vaquero a day to carry a letter to Santa Maria. And besides, I
might not be at home when the reply came. I think I'll just take the
bull by the horns; ride back in the morning and set these old precedents
at defiance, by arranging the match verbally. I can make the talk that
this country is Texas now, and that under the new regime American
customs are in order. That's what I'll do--and I'll take Tom Quirk with
me for fear I bog down in my Spanish."

But several vaqueros, who understood some English, advised Enrique of
what the old matchmaker proposed to do, when the vaquero threw his hands
in the air and began sputtering Spanish in terrified disapproval. Did
not Don Lance know that the marriage usages among his people were their
most cherished customs? "Oh, yes, son," languidly replied Uncle Lance.
"I'm some strong on the cherish myself, but not when it interferes
with my plans. It strikes me that less than a month ago I heard you
condemning to perdition certain customs of your people. Now, don't get
on too high a horse--just leave it to Tom and me. We may stay a week,
but when we come back we'll bring your betrothal with us in our vest
pockets. There was never a Mexican born who can outhold me on palaver;
and we'll eat every chicken on Santa Maria unless they surrender."

As soon as the herd had started for home the next morning, Uncle Lance
and I returned to Santa Maria. We